Where There Is Life
by lordhellebore
Summary: ONE-SHOT: They are strangers now, from different worlds, but there was a time when it was different.


**Disclaimer:** _Pirates of the Caribbean_ belongs to Disney; no money is being made.

**Prompt:** "Their first kiss"

* * *

Weatherby Swann is standing at the bow, looking out over the dark ocean in front of him. The ship is silent; most crewmen are sleeping below, and nothing is disturbing him in his thoughts.

He's been aboard for two months, and yet it's still hard to believe that he is here. It's a world entirely different from what he is used to, and he has no idea what he should do. He didn't even expect to be still alive by now.

It had been pure luck that he had managed to escape Cutler Beckett, surprising himself by overwhelming his guard in a moment of carelessness. He had long suspected that Beckett could have planned but one thing for him in the end, but it had been only in that second that he had realised that if he let it happen, he would never see his daughter again. He would never have believed that he could do it if he'd been asked before.

Now he can see Elizabeth every day aboard the _Black Pearl_, but even that is no true comfort. She has changed, more than he could have imagined, and he's not sure how to deal with it, how to approach her again without awkwardness. Somehow, she is at home in this world that is alien to him. She knows how to handle the ship, the crew, the captain.

Weatherby sighs; he doesn't want to think of Barbossa. The man is a mystery to him: cocky, brutal, and always grinning in a most disconcerting fashion. It's better to not have too much to do with him, Weatherby tries to tell himself.

It's hard, and he feels ungrateful for that; after all, it was Barbossa who took him aboard in Tortuga, the only place he'd been able to think of after having fled Port Royal. It was a ridiculous idea, but the safest choice for someone hiding from the law. He couldn't have gone back to England, or any of the colonies – surely, he would be searched by the likes of Mercer – and even merchant ships weren't safe. They made port far too often and had too much to do with the Royal Navy.

He could have done much worse than this; at least there is his daughter, and at least it seems that Barbossa is well-disposed towards him. Maybe he, too, has to think of the past sometimes, of the youth they spent together.

"You're standing so still, you could compete with the figurehead."

The voice startles him, and he spins around to see that the man he's been thinking of is standing behind him. In the light of the moon, he looks wild and frightful with his unkempt beard and eccentric clothes, and it seems impossible that he could have been the boy Weatherby knew.

"Couldn't sleep, and it's no good drinking alone." He offers a bottle, filled with the ubiquitous rum.

Weatherby is surprised, because until now, the captain avoided him as well. There was some talking when he came aboard, some remarks every now and then, stares and leering smiles. But nothing like this, and he wonders what it might mean.

It's a cool night, and in the end, Weatherby takes the bottle and gulps down a mouthful. The vile drink sets his throat and innards on fire, and he has to cough. Barbossa laughs and slaps his back.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it!" The grin disappears all of a sudden, he's more serious now. "You'll get used to all of this, to being a pirate. Took me a while as well, but it's not as hard as it seems at first."

That has always been the difference between them, Weatherby thinks once he can breathe again and has returned the bottle: Barbossa never seems to lose his optimism.

It's only now that he realises the other man's hand is still on his back, but strangely, he doesn't mind so much.

"How can you be so sure?"

Barbossa is silent for a while, and without knowing how, or why now, Weatherby feels the atmosphere between them change. The air, the sounds, the lights, everything is different in a subtle way that he can't quite explain.

When Barbossa finally speaks, it's a surprisingly soft whisper: "Because I'll be there to take care of you. What could possibly go wrong?"

There is a heat radiating from his touch that surpasses even the burn of the rum. Weatherby closes his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath.

He heard these words before, over forty years ago, but back then, he hadn't believed them. He hadn't believed that two sixteen-year-old boys could get along at sea on their own, two boys from wealthy families, unused to work or any hardships. It wasn't enough that they had each other, that they loved each other, and that leaving was their only chance at being together.

"Everything," he'd said. "Everything could go wrong."

They hadn't seen each other again after that, and two weeks later, he'd learnt that Barbossa had run away from home without a trace or at least a goodbye to anyone. Once he'd got over it, he had told himself that it was better like this, and he had believed it, most of the time. He had become a husband and father, after all, and a successful politician. But suddenly, he's not so sure any more.

He doesn't know how long he's been standing like this, but it must have been a while, because now, Barbossa takes his hand away. In a strange way, the feeling of loss is even more intense than when he touched him, and Weatherby opens his eyes, turning to face him.

Barbossa does not move, he simply looks at him and waits, like he did so many years ago.

In the end, the decision is not that hard.

"Nothing, Hector. Nothing could go wrong."

Slowly, Weatherby reaches out, feeling awkward and embarrassed. They're old men, not schoolboys any more. But when their lips touch, it doesn't matter. It is no different from how it was then, and for one moment, they _are_ schoolboys again, having their first and only forbidden kiss, on a cold winter day out in Mayor Swann's garden.

Then time moves forward, reality returns. The other man's beard is rough and filthy, his breath stinks of cheap rum, and in essence, they are hardly more than strangers anymore.

Weatherby finds that he doesn't care.

After they break the kiss, they stand arm in arm, looking at the ocean together for a while in silence.

"Tomorrow, I'll start teaching you fight like a pirate."

Hector grins again, that leering smirk that is so unsettling, but there's a glint in his eyes that speaks of care and concern, reminding Weatherby of the boy he knew. He returns the smile, and what else can he do? He's still a stranger in this world, but he can't go back. All that he can do is try to adjust, and maybe, now, it won't be so bad. In time, he can get to know this man too, and better than he used to before.

Where there is life there is hope, they say, and he hasn't felt this alive in a long time.


End file.
